Magda's Daughter Read Free Page A

her daughter before returning her embrace. ‘Is that a skirt or a belt you are wearing?’
    â€˜Mama, mini-skirts are fashionable.’
    â€˜In my day a girl would have been horsewhipped for showing so much leg. A letter has arrived for you. From the council. It’s on the sideboard,’ she shouted after Helena when her daughter raced up the stairs.
    â€˜Good news?’ Ned asked, knowing how much Helena’s heart was set on the post she’d applied for.
    â€˜I think you should wait for Helena to tell you.’
    â€˜You opened the letter?’ Ned hoped to embarrass Magda. One of the few things Helena was prepared to argue with Magda about was her mother’s insistence on opening all the mail addressed to her daughter.
    â€˜A mother’s right,’ she snapped. ‘Is that all you’re bringing in?’ She watched Ned lift two suitcases out of the car and set them on the pavement.
    â€˜We decided to take Helena’s books and other things straight up to the new house in Graigwen.’
    â€˜I suppose that’s sensible,’ Magda said in a tone that was a sharp reminder of all the evenings Ned had spent during the Christmas and Easter holidays listening to his future mother-in-law argue as to why he and Helena should postpone their wedding for two years.
    Ned could remember all Magda’s reasons: setting up home was expensive – it would take at least that long to save the money they’d need to buy essentials; Helena was too young to go straight from college into married life; he’d need time to adjust to working as a GP without the distraction of a wife and, most annoying of all, if he took weekly instruction from Father O’Brien for two years he wouldn’t have any qualms about making the commitment to convert to Catholicism.
    Hampered by the suitcases, Ned followed Magda up the stairs. Helena was standing in the middle of the room holding the letter.
    â€˜You’ve read it?’ Magda asked.
    â€˜So have you.’
    Ned refrained from cheering when he detected reproach in Helena’s voice.
    â€˜A mother’s right,’ Magda repeated.
    â€˜You always say that, but the letter was personal, addressed to me,’ Helena emphasized.
    â€˜If you haven’t got the job, you can always apply for something else,’ Ned cut in. He couldn’t bear to wait a moment longer to find out if Helena had been successful.
    â€˜I’ve got it.’ Helena eyed Ned. ‘Your father …’
    â€˜Has absolutely no influence with the governors of the Girls’ Grammar School,’ he interrupted, knowing what she was about to ask. ‘But you’re an ex-pupil. Everyone who has had anything to do with the school knows you and what you’re capable of. You did this one all by yourself, sunshine.’
    â€˜The headmistress and governors know an intelligent girl when they see one. A girl who will work hard and take her work very seriously.’ Magda opened the sideboard door and took out a tray of tiny glasses and a bottle. ‘A drink to celebrate.’ She poured three minute measures of Polish vodka, and lifted one to the framed photograph on the wall. A prettier, younger version of herself, holding a bouquet of roses, stood arm in arm with a young, fair-haired man. She was wearing a long white dress, he a well-tailored dark suit, white shirt, collar and tie. Behind them a distinctive redbrick church loomed over a graveyard. ‘Your papa is looking down on us, Helena. He is very proud of you and what you have accomplished.’
    Helena raised her glass to the photograph, wishing yet again that she had one memory of the man who had fathered her.
    Ned took the glass Magda offered him. ‘To the best English teacher the Girls’ Grammar School will ever have.’
    â€˜To Helena Janek, BA and teacher,’ Magda toasted formally and proudly.
    â€˜Soon to be Helena John.’ Ned